


The sweetest lies are the ones we tell ourselves

by PoisonJack



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Injury, Deacon's self loathing, Domestic Fluff, Emotional pain, F/M, General au, Hurt/Comfort, eat some dirt the ending is too sweet, im gonna hurt ya and then we'll bring on the comfort OH YES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-20 11:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16136075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonJack/pseuds/PoisonJack
Summary: Deacon has to hurt Nora to drive her off to keep her safe. He does it a little too well.An excuse for aaaaaangst. And just to make them both hurt >:3Tumblr sentence prompt meme:Deacon/Female Sole for "You're nothing but a liar" ?? merci <3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt from the sentence meme on tumblr xD It's been sitting back here so long that 'chapter one' can just stand alone by itself fic-wise, unless there is interest for more, in which case i have a second chapter to put :) We'll let comments or lack of decide HAHA
> 
> Also on my tumblr [here](https://commonwealthbankofmaccready.tumblr.com/post/178585935789/omg-okay-if-youre-still-doing-those-angst-prompts).

“I don’t love you.”

The stricken, betrayed look of shock that crossed her face squeezed at his heart. Everything inside him rallied against it, but he didn’t reveal a single look to suggest the contrary. This was the path he’d chosen, and he was going to stick to it. For both their sakes.

“You… You don’t mean that,” Nora said with a half-smile, waiting for him to laugh. Like their conversation up to this point had been one big cruel joke-- cut her out of the Railroad, pull her membership, whatever other insane things he'd been saying the past five minutes- but a joke nonetheless, and she was waiting for the punchline. Something not about _not loving_ her, but being mad crazy _obsessed_ in love with her.

There was no punchline, and he wasn’t laughing.

“I do though, hotshot.”

It was alarming how easy the words came. Just flowed right out his mouth like silk; like every other lie he’d ever told. It should, after all. He was a master at his craft. He didn’t break character even as he saw how much his words hurt her. Even as she begged with her eyes for him to tell her it was a big lie; to have mercy with her feelings for him.

He couldn't though. This was for the best.

“Deacon, you--”

“Come on now, boss. Are you really that shocked? Really?”

He wanted to cry as he watched confusion turn to pain in her eyes that she didn’t yet accept; as he broke her heart. If there was any humanity left in him, he would’ve cried every last tear. But doing this… it took all of whatever he had left to lie about _this,_ and when she _did_ leave, that bit would go with her too.

“I would be if it was _true_ ,” she told him adamantly, voice wavering slightly as her eyes desperately searched his face. “There’s something you’re not telling me, or _something_ else.”

He offered an easy shrug. Tried to ignore the way her eyes began to swim with unshed tears at his casual body language and nonchalant voice as he rejected her. He tried to make it as believable as possible; as _professional_ with business-like detachment as possible. Like they were discussing any other mission objective. “You _know_ how good of a liar I am. You’ve seen me work. I mean, is it so impossible that I lied about this too? Knowing your background? Think for a second. Don't get upset, just use your brain.”

Nora’s hand clenched into a fist at that insult under the guise of offered possibility. Good. He hoped it made her mad. Mad enough to hit him and leave him. Better she was angry and hurt than hurt and heartbroken. He hoped she'd hit him. He deserved way more.

“No. No, Deacon, it doesn’t make any sense--”

“Uh, you’re the General of the Minutemen, you’ve got resources and insight that’s proven invaluable to the group, not to mention how many pies you’ve got your fingers in, boss. I never could’ve infiltrated the Brotherhood or anywhere else _half_ as easily as having you tag along has been. I mean, I’m good, but geez, you’re a damn charmer. You’ve been like a skeleton key out here. An all-VIP pass. Pretty good to have on hand.”

“That’s why this doesn’t make sense,” she argued, voice hitching in hard anger at something she was clearly beginning to accept as inevitable, but still fighting against in denial.

“Come on, you’re a smart cookie,” he told her with a grin that made him inwardly sick. “How can we operate when you’re so high-profile? Everyone notices you now wherever we go. My cover is pretty much blown when I’m with you. Gonna have to get a new face again to fix that.” She said his name, and he shook his head, cutting her off. “My face is worth more to the group than anything you have left to offer us. We’ve tapped it out, hotshot. The keg is dry, or whatever,” he gave a little laugh at his own metaphor, watching as she reacted as if he’d slapped her.

He hoped his end would come soon after this. She'd live-- and far longer than any of them if P.A.M.’s models were accurate- and that was what mattered. With the statistical probabilities of the Railroad members even living out the year, he hoped he went _first_ after this blow he was dealing her.

The look in her eyes was something that would be seared forever into his memory, but she’d _live_. That was the whole point. She’d survive this entire mess when the hammer fell, and he hoped it was rather sooner than later with the way she was looking at him. It was entirely necessary to cut her loose, and he thought it funny as hell that he’d have to be the one to ruin his own life; more payback for the wickedness of his youth. 

Deep down, he didn’t think the Railroad was going to win. Not in the long run, and not in the short either if P.A.M. was right. Sure, they’d made a difference with a lot of lives, saved a _lot_ of synths, and been a bug up the Institute’s ass for a while, but the Railroad was on its last legs. He’d never say it aloud, but he could feel the end nearing for them; _his_ end nipping at his heels. If they lasted another year-- if _he_ lasted another year- he’d be shocked.

“No… No I don’t believe that for a second.”

Deacon shrugged as he gave her what he knew would come off as a pitying, sympathetic-look for her plight. An ‘I get it, this kind of sucks’, underwhelming sort of expression. “You can ask Des if you want. Who do you think has been orchestrating everything?” he elaborated at the look on her face. “Des is smarter than any of us, and that’s the truth. This was just another job, and I was the best candidate. Can't expect you to go head over heels for Carrington or something, right? You know I am.”

She felt like her chest was imploding. “No way. You honestly expect me to believe Des told you to have-- have feelings--” Her voice cracked, stopping to take deep breaths so the oncoming sobs couldn’t break free from her chest.

“Told me to start a relationship with you, make love to you, do _anything_ to earn your trust and connections, yeah boss. Is that so hard to believe of a master spy? I know you had those pre-war, right?”

She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve him trampling all over her feelings, dirtying everything they’d shared, even if he tried to do it as business-like as possible to spare her extra pain. He loved her. He loved her more than he thought he’d ever be able to again, loved her more than life, more than the cause he was fighting for, _all_ of it. But this war was going to eat them all alive, and if she hung around them any longer-- if her cover was blown- she’d go down just like the rest of them, and he didn't want to see that happen.

P.A.M.’s predictions were always dire when it came to their survival rates, but nothing like this. First the Switchboard, now Ticonderoga. They were going to move HQ soon as rival faction activities in their area were more and more compromising their operations-- in a ‘move or you’ll be destroyed’ kind of threat. 

He’d asked Des not to tell Nora where they were moving it; asked everyone to break off contact with her for her own safety. He might not have the best reputation as a compulsive liar, but he had seniority, he had the skills, and god-allowed he had the loyalty and care of his friends. They also loved the General of the Minutemen-- enough to cut her loose for a chance at a normal life all of them knew they’d never get. The things she'd already done for them and made possible-- there wasn't much else they could tap her for and even then it wasn’t worth her life. It was kinder to set her free.

Des didn’t like it, of course. None of them did. Fear of reprisal was one thing-- easily reassured by the fact they were moving HQ while Deacon had this very conversation. But Des agreed that what Nora had done for them-- how she’d _helped_ them so very much- had more than earned her her freedom. Nora didn’t know enough to hurt them if she turned, thought they didn’t think she would. Even Carrington agreed on that. Let her start a new life unburdened by subterfuge and sabotage. She'd suffered enough already.

The tears had broken down her face, and Deacon felt ill as her lips trembled, trying to keep her words level even though she was obviously suffering. He would have given anything to just take her up in his arms and comfort her, renounce all his lies as such, but such a selfish act wasn't worth her _life._

“No… No, all the little things-- _everything_ we've shared--”

“All layers to a deep cover. I think you're a pretty interesting person, don't get me wrong, but my allegiance is first and foremost to the Railroad. Your celebrity-status jeopardizes our future as a resistance. You know I’m right.”

Nothing could be further from the truth. She'd been good. Very good to avoid detection and slip-ups. Maybe not as good as him, but where she lacked a silver tongue she'd more than made up for in charm. It was something he loved about her; more honest than the lies he lived by.

“That can't be true.”

“It is. Sorry if you disagree.”

“You’re _lying_ , Deacon.”

“Not this time, boss.”

She snorted to cover for the tears streaming down her face. “Bullshit. You're nothing _but_ a liar.”

“Come on, don’t take it personally.” He looked up as if for patience, but really to fight against the pain that wanted to break across his own face. This was the hardest thing he'd _ever_ done, and he hated himself for it. He looked back at her with a smirk he didn't feel. “It was fun, right? Probably one of the more fun assignments I've had, honestly. Don't try to be too upset over stuff. It'll pass. Things always do.”

“This is… You can't mean any of this.”

“Sorry,” he said with a shrug, his stomach waiting for him to slink off somewhere so he could throw up. This made him sick. He loved her so much. “It was just another role for me. Guess I underestimated my acting skills. I _really_ didn't want you to get so hurt by all this, boss-- I've had fun, and that actually is the truth- although you _probably_ don't believe that.”

“Everything… everything we've been through--” she choked on her own words. “All the times you said you loved me--”

“Just lines,” he lied with a shrug as she visibly stopped trying so hard to hold herself together. He was hurting her hard. He needed to wrap this up or he wasn't going to last that long himself. He could feel a painful tickle in his nostrils warning him that his own tears were on their way. He _hated_ this. “If I’d known you'd be _this_ convinced I wouldn't have dug in so deep. But I mean, you deserve the truth of matters in the end for being such a damn asset.” 

He took a shuddering breath as tears streamed down her stricken face. Time to deliver the killing blow: “I don't love you. The only person I ever loved was my wife.” Her soft intake of breath, the way she was watching him now… His words were hitting home, dead and center. She'd be safe after this. She'd leave him and never look back. It filled his veins with ice water. “Everything else is an easy act. You can relate, right? I mean it's not like you've forgotten your husband, have you?”

“ _Fuck you,_ ” she said at the mention. 

The final nail in the coffin. He figured that was it. It was done. If his rejection hadn't stung enough, then surely _that_ would make her hate him. Make it _personal_. And it had seemed to hit the mark. 

He was ready after this. Let the commonwealth, the Institute, and the devil himself throw their worst at him. It was nothing compared to what he was doing. He was ready to be the hollow tool the Railroad needed if she stayed out of it, safe. But from this moment on he knew he'd be dead inside.

“I think we understand one another. And for what it's worth, I am sorry.”

She was crying, face a mask of anguish and pain, but her voice was livid with hurt. _“Take off your damn sunglasses and look me in the eyes, Deacon.”_

Now _that_ was something he didn’t want to do. It wiped the nonchalant look from his face for just a moment. “Nora, come on now--”

“No. You don’t love me, say it with them _off.”_

He huffed as if she was being melodramatic, wondering if his heart would make a mess when it burst inside him from pain he didn’t want to inflict. He loved her so much, he wasn’t sure he could keep up the act stripped of his security. The mask would slip, she'd see, and she'd end up staying, dying with all of them and their idealistic cause.

He couldn’t allow that to happen to her.

He met her gaze head on, the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears as he relied on years of subterfuge, lies, and pure muscle memory to say the worst lie of his life as convincing as he possibly could: “I don't love you. I never have. It was all an act to benefit the cause.”

He couldn't even hear the words as he said it, his heart was beating so hard, but the look of utter anguish in her face-- despair, betrayal, abandonment, and _grief_ \- he knew he'd been successful.

He put his glasses back on as she didn't attempt to hold back her tears anymore, his own eyes filling with moisture as she shook her head in denial. 

He needed to get out of there. He couldn't hold this mask for much longer. Tears were already building behind his sunglasses, but his voice was steady. “Look, I'll see you around probably, but you won't see me. Or you might, but you won't recognize me after I get this mug taken care of. But I _do_ want you to take care, okay? We're all cheering for you Minutemen from the sidelines. You've done more good than anyone, and we owe you our gratitude for that. Fight the good fight, as they say in the capital.” 

He turned his back on her with a smile that died the instant she was out of view. Her anguished, wracking sobs filled the place, and he couldn't run hard or fast enough away to cry out his own frustrations.

It was better this way. She'd live. P.A.M. had run her personal statistics compared to their own, and while their survival rate was usually pretty dismal, hers was something he couldn’t leave to fate. A ninety-six percent survival rate _alone_ compared to _twenty-two_ if she stayed with him. 

She’d be unhappy, but she’d live. She’d get over things and rebuild like he’d already seen her do since climbing out of the vault. He knew she would thrive even when the Railroad was nothing more than a wistful memory.

It was better this way. It was better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone hug Deacon right the fuck now T_T 
> 
> So I actually have a second part to this story (unfinished atm) where endgame was that delicious comfort and happy ending... But if no one is interested then this fic is complete as is haha THE PAIN
> 
> [my fallout tumblr](http://CommonwealthBankofMacCready.tumblr.com/) | [my fic archive masterlist](https://commonwealthbankofmaccready.tumblr.com/post/172184061939/poisonjack-ao3-fic-archive)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually about 3x the size of the first chapter HAHA whatever I didn't split it up cuz I didn't feel like it xD Enjoy the severe, crippling emotional pain i'm about to put you through before picking you back up xD hahaha

The activities of the Minutemen’s General in the following weeks were becoming something of the commonwealth’s newest nightmare. 

She'd wiped out Libertalia with a bloodlust that could've rivaled any raider. Rumors that she'd gone in with anything from only road leathers and a combat knife to power armor and a fat man were being spread with awe and also fear. She hadn't left anyone alive to tell about it, so Deacon himself had gone to view the aftermath with his own eyes. The rumors _really_ didn’t do the truth justice.

It was sloppy. Messy. And it sent spikes of unease through him at the recklessness bordering on savagery she’d left in her wake.

She was okay though-- still alive and moved on from that place- so he tried to ignore that sickening feeling in his stomach and write it all off to her working off the anger with him having broken her heart along with his own. He didn't like second-guessing himself, but this was a pain and an inner-regret that wouldn't go away, and god but he hurt through it too. He didn’t blame her for taking out that pain on the scum of the commonwealth.

Then the Revere Pier had a similar incident. From there she'd annihilated the raiders trying to dig in a foothold among super mutants in downtown, and the mutants themselves had been destroyed with such disregard for life that it had everyone back at new HQ worried for their safety; that Deacon had made a mistake in discarding an ally more dangerous than any of them had ever dreamed. 

If she _did_ decide on comeuppance for them, it would all be on _him_. Hmph. As if he needed _them_ to tell him that.

He shook his head at such stupid concerns. Her kills were angry, definitely, but it was almost flashy in a way; no discretion. Was she trying to prove him wrong about her usefulness? Get his attention? Trying to prove it to herself otherwise? ...Or trying to forget him and throw herself into ripping apart the Commonwealth in some form of well-meant but violent justice.

Deacon had tried to keep an eye on her from afar, but he could only risk getting so close without her recognizing him-- and without wanting to decry everything he’d told her and apologize from his damn heart.

The settlements she used to frequent _with_ him were now completely off-limits to his presence unless he wanted to be spotted. He was pretty sure the other strays she’d picked up would probably beat the shit out of him if they saw him, which frankly wasn't something he was looking forward to. But as far as beatings went, he deserved to get his ass handed to him.

So many times he wanted to reach for her; everything inside of him telling him that it had been a mistake-- that maybe P.A.M.’s predictions were bullshit. Listening the few times she broke down by herself, the echoes of her tears made unbearable guilt and longing rise up in him, eyes tearing up. More than once he’d had to leave her to it before breaking down by himself. It was _better_ , he kept telling himself. Yes, she hurt, but she’d get past this and _live._

And him? Well, what was more heartache for the man that was Deacon? No less than he deserved and no more than he had already experienced in his life. Knowing that her presence-- combined with the Railroad’s company- would only lead to her premature death was the _only_ thing keeping him from going to her; the only thing that made the unbearable bearable.

He still watched over her as best he could. Watched as she became a shadow of her former self, _and god,_ he was lying to himself when he said it was all worth it. He was pretty sure she was using chems to achieve her recent blood baths. The tired, flinty-eyed look of extended psycho-use was making itself at home on her face, and the rate at which she cleared out even the most minor of threats had him worried she was jetting as well.

Nora’s wary observation of corners and shadows-- all the places he taught her were best for eavesdropping and spying- were always her focus, _still_ looking for him, he knew. 

Even after these weeks, she was still clearly hoping he might be near, and it made him sick inside and out when he could catch the rare glance of her unguarded face. He might have pulled off the hard sell when he'd told her he didn't love her, but it was clear she couldn't accept it. The pain there and eternally red-rimmed eyes alone was enough to go off of. 

That she wouldn’t be able to move on from him hadn’t been a _real_ concern until now. She was gorgeous and smart and strong and so damn kind; he’d been _certain_ someone would’ve swooped in with their ready shoulder to cry on and make her forget all about him. Maybe MacCready with the way he was always looking at her. Or Preston, her second in command, and all-around good-guy that openly adored her.

But no, there was no one else, no one there to pick up the pieces he’d left shattered. The look on her face was the same one he saw when looking into a mirror, and knowing that she hurt the same way he did… well… There wasn’t a word for that kind of guilt.

He hadn’t expected it to hurt _this_ much. Greatest regret of his life, yeah, but the actual tightness in his chest, the sleepless nights, the food he couldn’t keep down and the tears he cried as he raged against the injustice of it all...

If he could just apologize… To tell her it was all bullshit… How much he loved her, would die for her, would do _anything_ for her if she just forgave the worst lie he’d ever told...

But no. The first weeks would be the hardest, he knew, but she'd get over him, and more importantly, he had to remind himself, she'd _survive_ this heartache. 

But at the rate she kept flinging herself into potentially deadly situations, she wasn't going to last long at all. He _needed_ to somehow fix this. Get her _away_ from this insane campaign to annihilate every last threat in the commonwealth.

And then she'd disappeared. 

Deacon couldn't find hide nor hair of her. Not from his various informants. Not from the gossip-mongers or even conspiracy-nuts. The spike of panic through him as everything concerning Nora went quiet chilled and terrified him. He couldn’t find even the smallest trace of her last whereabouts. No one could. It was as if the General of the Minutemen had vanished into thin air. 

...More likely she was dead somewhere-- bit off more than she could chew- and the thought ate at Deacon like so much radiation until he couldn’t take it: this was _his_ fault. 

A week went by, and rumors that her bloody campaign for a safer wasteland had finally taken its toll were circulating among her settlements. The caravans had no news-- all the same rumors that she'd bitten off more than she could chew. Other rumors speculated that maybe the Institute had nabbed her, and when she came back-- _if_ she came back- they’d better watch their backs. 

Up until her disappearance, Nora had made waves in every circle Deacon kept his ear to. Her violent disregard for any threat out there was having an actual impact on raider groups moving back in to areas she'd cleared. If the shoe was on the other foot, if she'd been a raider herself, she easily would have taken over the role of the commonwealth’s new boogeyman. 

And that scared Deacon most of all. If the Institute itself had gotten wind of her campaign of carnage, and decided she was an asset to copy or whatever the hell it was they did, then it was all over. For all of them.

But everything was still quiet. And not knowing whether she was alive or dead was somehow the worst of all.

\--

The explosion in the skies above Boston Airport two weeks after she'd vanished had shook the commonwealth citizenry to its core. The Prydwen exploded, a giant fireball in the night sky as vertibird wreckage rained down in molten metal from the Brotherhood of Steel’s mothership.

Deacon had seen it happen from atop Bunker Hill, and he was already hoofing it over there, heart pounding and stomach sick over what or _whom_ he might find responsible.

...not that there was any love lost between him and the Brotherhood, but this was a feat very few could accomplish, and had the messy calling card he'd regrettably come to recognize since breaking her heart along with his own. 

The Brotherhood had been sabotaged, ship completely destroyed, and Boston Airport had been overrun by synths. Deacon had spotted more than one courser mopping up the place by the time he'd gotten close enough to see what in the hell had happened. It was all out war, and the Institute presence sent icewater through his veins as he tried to gather and analyze everything he was seeing.

He thought he'd seen Nora there for just a second, standing amongst the flames and wreckage like some hell-demon, and he went pale with fear as he wasn't sure if it was his mind playing tricks, or if what he'd thought was her had been wearing the standard black armor of the Institute coursers. 

Whatever he thought he'd seen wasn't there as he picked about the site once things were clear but still burning. There was a lot of dead Brotherhood soldiers with power armor that resembled cheese graters. Coursers with their heads blown off, recognizable only by their armor and fusion rifles. Gen-2 synths still prowled the area in numbers great enough that he'd popped his stealth boy and returned to HQ below Bunker Hill where everything was in chaos over this new development.

The Institute claimed the carnage as their own not three days later, hijacking Diamond City’s radio station.

Her voice-- he _knew_ it was her voice, it couldn't have been anyone else's voice- had broadcast an announcement throughout the commonwealth at large that the Institute was something not to be trifled with. That their power and activities must not be questioned by the surface dwellers-- or they’d meet the same fate as the illustrious Brotherhood of Steel.

Deacon hadn't been able to keep any food down after hearing that. Her voice was hard, authoritative like he'd sometimes liked to tease her about in delegating tasks at her settlements, but he also heard the pain there. She was alive, and _not_ copied. That pain wasn’t something a synth would need. She was still herself.

As much as he was grateful to hear her voice, _know_ she was alive, he knew this was all his fault. He might've hastened the end of the Railroad quicker than expected. That the Institute might've grabbed her had been one thought, but that she'd _join_ them… Even P.A.M. hadn't seen that one coming, and the numbers she was running now were not at all friendly to their resistance.

What had he done?

Deacon had to get out of HQ after that, unable to deal with Carrington’s haranguing concerns for their safety, or the looks others gave him when they thought he couldn’t see; like he’d just signed all their death warrants. 

That was two days before another explosion that took out the entire CIT ruins and surrounding buildings rocked through the commonwealth. 

HQ was going mad-- like someone had kicked a stingwing’s nest- and he returned to try and sort this shit out. 

They were feeding P.A.M. as much data as they could, but even the super-advanced computers inside the assaultron could only analyze so much at once. The Institute’s suspected location was somewhere in the area that had gone up, and all Deacon could think was that Nora was gone up with the bastards too. He'd sent her rocketing, _speeding_ towards her doom. That was all that was certain as light celebrations and initial reports came in from agents on the ground.

He'd never forgive himself.

Deacon slunk into their abandoned HQ in the catacombs below the old church, not knowing where else to go to avoid everything as it became _too much_. He hadn't been here since they'd abandoned it; had watched Nora-- after his initial rejection- approach it once or twice before she eventually turned back. He'd done a convincing number on her then, that was for damn sure. Now he wished more than ever that he could take it _all_ back.

He didn’t hold any illusions that he’d ever find a body to even grieve over. He just felt… _numb._

His gun was out for the ferals as he took the back way inside the church, but it wasn't ghouls that made his heart stop in his chest, or his legs to turn as heavy as rocks.

Nora was in there, amidst planted files and misinformation left purposely behind. She was bloodied, char and burns and minor cuts, leaning against the old mattress he'd left behind on the moss-covered wall.

She looked up at his approach, the movement jerky and sudden, gun hand shaking as she pointed _deliverer_ at him, and it was about the best thing he could remember ever happening in his life up until that point.

He was so glad to see her. So _so_ glad to see her, it didn't even occur to him that she might shoot him, the gun trained on him as he slowed his approach. As he got closer, he realized her shaking hand wasn't due to nerves, but rather nerve _damage_. Her eyes were glassy, breathing labored, and there were more places streaked with blood or wounds than not. She was alive, but she was fucked up; hurt real bad.

She raised the gun at his closer approach as he was pretty sure he was seeing a ghost.

_“Don't.”_

He choked on her name. “Nora-”

His feet crunched on the gravel and papers left behind. The sound filled the space their voices had just vacated, and Deacon stood there with his heart pounding in his chest, wanting to hold her, apologize, say any million of words on his lips, but mostly he wanted to see to her wounds. 

She didn’t lower the gun.

Nora blinked at him slowly, as if making sure he was actually there. After a minute, the side of her lips just barely twitched as it was apparent she wasn’t hallucinating. “I had to see…” she grunted in pain, “see if it was really true, or... mm… It was, wasn't it?” she asked with a glance around them, everything abandoned. “...at least... I didn't want to come back until… until it was done… Just in case... _Fuck!_ ” she cursed as the gun fell from her shaking hand.

Deacon used the opportunity to get close, kneeling down on the mattress beside her and touching her just to make sure she was really real. His eyes widened and he removed his sunglasses the better see her wounds. She was hurt, _bad._ Worse than he’d thought. She was suffering from withdrawls, too. His relief was shortly lived as he realized he didn’t possess anything that might help, and he was too far from anything friendly to leave her.

“Nora… _fuck,_ Nora, this wasn't supposed to happen to you,” he told her, voice filled with so much emotion he was sure it would drown him.

Her eyes opened a little wider at his tone before she has to blink away the throbbing pain. She sighed. A little late for that. “I wanted to see you again… even if you're an asshole.” She gave him what was almost a smile, but beared more on grimace of pain. “Heh... All loose ends and stuff...”

Deacon didn't realize he was crying until he was wiping the wetness from his face with shock. She looked the same. The same sort of pain in her eyes, only dimmed by the very real pain in her body. This wasn't what he'd wanted for her. She needed a doctor right away.

“Nora where in the hell--” He stopped himself. _Later_. There’d be time for this _later_. “We need to get you to a doctor, baby. Right-- right the fuck _now.”_

“...I don't want one,” she sighed out resolutely, movements tight as she held herself. After what she’d done… After what she’d _done_... Nothing could forgive what she’d done to her-- to the leader of the Institute. She didn’t have anything left. “It's all… All of it’s done, Dee... I don't want one.”

There were a very few things he could do for her right there, but staunching the bleeding in her left arm was something. She didn’t stop him as the extent of her wounds became more apparent with his touch. His panicked tone mingled with desperate sobs echoed off the catacomb walls. “...If we don't… If we don’t, y-you're going to _die,_ sweetheart.”

She snorted lightly. Her glassy eyes were becoming watery as she watched him, lip trembling. “...you care, huh?”

He was crying hard. He hadn't cried this hard since… since he'd buried Barbara.

Fuck. Fuck he’d fucked up. He’d fucked up this entire thing. Every single thing about it. He’d broken her heart and sent her on a killing-spree to rival any raider _all for nothing_. The most fucked-up thing in the history of the commonwealth and _she_ was going to pay the price for his shitty choices.

He wiped a hand over his eyes as he applied pressure to the wound on her arm. She winced but didn't move otherwise. “I didn't want-- I wanted you to _live!_ Goddammit, Nora! I _love_ you-- your survival rate was the lowest of us all if you stayed--” He got choked up, sick and scared and helpless and _terrified_ as he was about to lose her yet _again_. “If you'd just left everything else alone, _you could have lived a nice long life without the rest of us!”_

He was crying _hard_ , hands shaking on her, knees feeling like jelly as he crouched there. This wasn’t fair. _None_ of it was fair. He couldn’t handle outliving another woman he loved. He couldn’t. But there wasn’t anything he could do. He didn’t have anything on him that might help.

She aimed a pink smile his way, teeth bloody. Internal bleeding. He didn't need to know how bad it was to know she wasn't walking out of there under her own power.

If at all.

“...you might just be... the _best_ damn bullshitter... in the entire commonwealth, Deacon…” Her breathing was more labored, and she had to rest between words as he gripped her. It hurt, over the wound in her arm, but she could still feel the warmth of his hand. She’d missed it. “...Probably even the world.”

Deacon shook his head vehemently, feeling her blood on his hands and knowing he didn’t even have so much as a mentat to give her. “This wasn't-- _you didn't have to put yourself out there!_ I could have stood it all if I knew _you'd_ live!”

Her voice was high-pitched, like she was having trouble controlling it through sudden heavy emotion. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, taking dirt and blood with them down her cheeks. “...it _was_ a lie, wasn't it?”

“Every. Goddamn. _Word_ ,” he ground out through tears. His sobs shook him, eyes desperately trying to embed her face in his mind. “Nora I didn't want-- you were supposed to _live,_ goddammit!”

Her expression turned to a grimace as she blinked away more tears. Her words were filled with pain; regret. “...I know.”

Those two words had him looking at her with such confusion, such heartache, he couldn't stand it. And like that, he understood just what had driven her one-woman campaign of slaughter across the commonwealth.

“...P.A.M. told me everything... She and K.L.E.O. are- ...were manufactured at the same place… pre-war… They share an uplink… _fuck_ …” She swallowed heavily, fingers on her hand gripping Deacon’s arm. “All assaultrons with AI can be… reverse-hacked… Nate’s old passwords still work...” She closed her eyes a moment, wincing, and her tone changed to one of pain and sorrow; full of all the unfettered grief the last few weeks had caused. Her voice was a weak squeak of a thing as she struggled to get the words out. “...you dickhead, Deacon... I wish you were there… I missed you so much…”

“ _Nora I am so goddamn sorry baby--”_

“I fixed it… I-I’m not letting you die ‘cuz of… Institute assholes… it's done.”

A sound of pain left Deacon’s throat. Such anger and grief and rage and helplessness was coiling inside him, and he wished like he'd never wished before that he could take it all _back. “Fuck! This was_ never _about everyone else! I wanted-- I needed_ you _to live!”_

She offered him what could be considered a smile over tears at that. Something in her tone was oddly relieved. “...it's okay.” 

“It’s not. It’s not sweetheart,” he said as he shook his head helplessly, trying to think of what the fuck he could possibly do. He had no stims, no doctor in his pocket, and based on the look in her eyes and the way she’d begun shivering, she didn’t have long. He was terrified to move her, but if he didn’t… He didn’t want to leave her either, in case-- in case--

“...Hold me, Dee…”

“...Jesus Christ, Nora.” He hugged her close, his tears mingling with her own. She winced and hissed at the movement, her voice choked with pain and regret, and an odd note of satisfaction.

“It's all… all taken care of, Deacon… I just… I wanted to be with you…”

Deep-dread filled him at the very core. It was a type of regret he hadn’t felt before, even after all this time and everything he’d done in his long and deviant life. This… this hurt like a hot, sharp knife shoved right up under his ribs. He was desperate to take it away. Far away where the terror and fear and helplessness battling inside him couldn’t touch them. “ _...Christ_ you didn't have to do all this. Not- not for _anyone,_ Nora.” His tone was begging, like she could take it back. Like somehow she could grant him the permission to undo everything.

She couldn’t though, of course. They were _far_ beyond that.

“...Don't worry...” She flopped her head onto his shoulder; tired. Dead tired. “...it’s all done…”

The weakness in her voice sent a chill of alarm up his spine, and he pulled back to look at her with frightened but determined eyes, even as his inner voice told him she was already beyond his help. “I'm gonna-- I'm gonna figure something out, baby. Get you help, okay?”

“...don't bother,” she breathed out, the hand not holding herself holding his arm. “It doesn't... doesn’t even hurt anymore…”

A spike of fear went through him at that, turning his blood to ice in his veins. That… he _needed_ to get her help.

There had to be _something_ left. Something left behind in the catacombs. Bullshit of Tom’s or Glory’s secret forgotten stash or _something._

Nora watched Deacon get up from her in urgency, tapping bricks as her vision went darker, so, _so_ tired. The view of the world shifted as she couldn't keep her head upright anymore, slowly slumping sideways to the mattress she was sitting on. It was so comfortable, and she wanted to close her eyes so bad. As bad as she wanted to still watch as Deacon scrambled to break a hole in the old brick wall, eyes wide and gaze stricken as he vaulted over one of the tombs in the room to get back to her side.

She didn't see the syringe in his hand, or feel it when he lifted her and plunged the serum into her veins. She had a sense of being held tight, a rhythmic shaking and warm wetness as sensation went further and further, giving way to a still numbness. 

Deacon’s wails, his cries of pain… it was all just static in her ears.

\--

Clothes could be mended, and radiation burns healed. But after this-- after _all_ of it- Deacon left the Railroad, left everyone, and took Nora away from the commonwealth to someplace _safe._

She was getting stronger every day, but still needed help getting around as the multiple addictions had left her body weak, and stimpacks only did so much. The little farmhouse he'd found them worked as a great spot to heal her, and he was seeing that she got the best care he had to give.

He made a pretty nice home for them further west from anything either of them knew. Somewhere he'd heard of from passing traders; somewhere he hadn’t been for a very, _very_ long time. Set up a farmstead, got a nice mattress, and made friends with a cat that hung around the brahmin pen and ate from her dog’s bowl. 

He helped her heal. They helped each other heal. 

Deacon held Nora tightly in his arms every night and didn't let go. Even as she drew gentle fingertips over his scalp, humming and telling him it was okay until one or both of them fell asleep. He listened to her breathing, the way of her heart, thankful he’d found enough in stimpacks to close wounds back in the catacombs before getting her to a doctor that then got her travelworthy.

He was _never_ letting anything happen to her again. No more bullshit. No more lies. No more putting them both at risk. Not a lot of people got second chances, but he was sure as shit not going to fuck this one up. There was no place in the world he was more needed right now, and that was right here, hugging her midsection, and enjoying the feel of her fingertips on his skin.

“Deacon…. let me go, baby,” Nora’s amused voice said as he pulled back to see her smiling down her body at him. The intense look in his blue eyes made her smile, and she dragged her hand down to the nape of his neck. “I'm okay. You know I'm okay.”

He just shook his head dumbly, not finding the words or even a good ol’ bullshit lie to tell her. She drummed her fingers on the back of his neck and he offered her a crooked smile, eyes haunted but full of devotion.

“Dee… I'm not going anywhere, honey. And neither are you. It’s okay to let go. Promise.”

He cleared his throat before burying his face back in her stomach over the blankets. The brahmin was fed, and he could always trim the tato plants later. He had nowhere else to be right then but by her side. “Hmph… Tell that to my nightmares.”

“They'll fade after a while….” She dragged one of his hands up to her mouth and pressed a kiss to it, but he still stubbornly clung. She smirked. “Hug me, sweetheart.” He brought his face up from the blankets with a grin, and dragged himself up to carefully wrap his arms about her and press kisses to her face. She was delicate by no means-- especially after the weeks of rest and gentle care he’d given- but he was still careful. Mindful. He hunkered down next to her again and she ran her fingernails over the hair slowly coming back in all over his head. He hummed in pleasure as she smiled.

“It’s getting long.”

“Oh, you’ve noticed, huh baby?”

“Smart-ass,” she said with a grin at his playful tone. “Your dick doesn’t need to be any longer.”

He only gave her a dirty chuckle in response, and pressed into the hand she began stroking back over his scalp. His hair was growing back, the same auburn shade as his eyebrows, and she found her heart skip a beat with desire every time their eyes met. It was very fitting on him. Striking even against the blue of his eyes. She was excited by the change in him every time she caught his gaze. 

He chose that moment to look up at her, a serious sort of expression on his face. “You know I love you, right?” She hummed with pleasure but he didn’t give her a chance to speak. “Like, madly-crazy-obsessed, borderline-restraining-order special-room-at-Parsons’ in love with you.”

She only laughed and shook her head at the exaggeration. “What a creep.”

“Yeah, but you like it.”

“I _love_ it,” she corrected. 

They snickered and hugged one another, Nora enjoying his weight on her and his warmth and the peacefulness of their farm. It was so far removed from anything she’d known in this life, she could _almost_ pretend it was back before the bombs ever dropped. She didn’t know how Deacon had come by this place, but she didn’t care. There was no one asking her to do dirty jobs they couldn’t, to put her life on the line for drainage systems or personal property, or to… 

No… she wasn’t going to think about the man who committed atrocities. That man wasn’t her baby.

She did, however, find herself wondering about their friends they’d left behind. If MacCready went back to D.C. to be with his son, or if Glory was reeducating the mass exodus of synths Nora had relayed out to Spectacle Island. Everyone surely had their hands full after she’d ripped the commonwealth’s biggest bullies a new one, but Deacon made damn sure she wouldn’t be there to deal with the fall out from _that._ She’d done the people of the commonwealth a solid; _they_ could pick up the pieces and remember how to take care of themselves.

And admittedly, she wasn’t going to miss massacring mutants just for old toys, or bottles of nuka cola, or whatever the hell else someone decided was worth her putting her life on the line for. 

She wasn’t thinking entirely of herself though, when she thought to what they’d left behind. “Deacon… babe… aren't you-- Do you miss the commonwealth?”

“No.”

A half-amused smile tilted her lips. “...That was fast.”

He gave her a look that made her heart speed up _and_ skip a beat. The depths of emotion in his eyes almost made it hard to keep his gaze, and she had to blink away the moisture in her own quickly. “I almost lost you. Twice. Not again. Not _ever_ again. You come first, babydoll.”

“Do I now?”

It was his turn to snort at her smart-ass tone. “Yeah you do. Don’t act like you don’t enjoy every second of it.” 

She laughed and voiced an affirmative to _that_ lip-service. He buried his face in her neck and pressed kisses to the skin there. She laughed and pushed at him as he started to blow raspberries on her skin, and then he pulled off his onslaught enough to touch their foreheads together and kiss the tip of her nose.

She pulled his face to hers for a proper kiss, and he obliged by sealing his mouth over hers. It was maybe more chaste than she’d like, but the charming smile he gave her and the warmth in his eyes more than made up for it.

She stroked at the back of his neck once again. “Deacon?”

“Yeah?”

“...it's okay to miss it.”

He smiled, looking off to the side. “Maybe when… when I get a new face--”

“You do anything unnecessary to the face I fell in love with and I’ll kick your ass.”

He snorted, dropping the uncertain tone and snickering as he brought in close again. “But I had ya going there, right?”

She pressed a kiss to his lips, then smirked. “Not even.”

“What if it gets blown off and I need a new one?”

She rolled her eyes. “Pft. Like I’d let that happen.” She stroked a thumb across his jaw, studying his face with surely a stupidly-besotted look on her own, wondering what he might’ve looked like at one time or another. It hardly mattered in the long run. She was in love with his stupid charming voice and the blue of his eyes that were always filled with warmth and love when he looked at her, and she was a huge fan of that red hair that got longer every day. As long as his arms were around her and she could hug him back, then she didn’t care. “You could maybe use a few badass scars, though. You’re far too handsome for a farmer.”

He laughed hard at that, and sat up proper so he could really wrap his arms around her in a big, close hug. “What, scared the king of the molerats is gonna come up from under our tatos and take me away to his underground kingdom as his bride?”

“If they have air conditioning and cable tv, he can take me, too,” she laughed. 

They both snickered and snorted like idiots, he was certain, but he was happier and more grateful than he’d been in a very very long time. It could be overwhelming, feeling so much, but _god_ what a feeling. He had _hope_. He hadn’t felt that in a very long time indeed. But there was so much, so much potential, it was hard _not_ to be optimistic about their future.

He hugged her until their laughter had died down, and they settled together comfortably in the bed, just enjoying the afternoon sunlight and each other’s company. 

Nora had just about nodded off when Deacon’s voice brought her back from the edge of sleep, his thumb stroking at her shoulder. “...Nora?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you so much, babe,” Deacon’s voice came, level and light, but serious in his statement. “I don’t need anything back in the commonwealth, or anything outside of this farm except for you.”

She loved hearing that, really. Even if she wondered if he was saying it more for himself than for her; to try to make up for all the shitty lies he’d told her. It still hurt, thinking of the things he’d said, but that pain did fade a little with every kiss and embrace and words of love he spoke to her. “Mmm… that’s a nice thought. A really nice one.”

The playful tone was back; nervous, even as he held her in his arms. “I’m sensing a ‘but’ is coming...”

“No ‘but’,” she said with a sleepy smile, looking up at him. “Just… if you ever wanna go back… even to visit--”

“Hey I’m there for any and all road trips, babe. I’m _excellent_ at twenty questions,” he said quickly, leaving himself open to the option that if _she_ ever wanted to go back, he’d support it. He gave her a smirk which tempered down into smile at the way she was looking at him. Even blind and one could see the love she had for him. He swallowed heavily. Now there was a look to drive everything home. “Really though, Nora. If you ever want to go back, we can.”

“Maybe… Not-- not for a while, though.” His arms tightened around her, and snuggled into him. “I mean… I feel bad for-- well, there’s some things I’d like to tell a few people… But I think we deserve a vacation.”

Deacon knew what she meant. His quick flight out of the commonwealth with Nora in his care had left little time for sweet goodbyes and explanations. Des would kick his ass straight to the Capital Wasteland and back for dropping right off the map, though she’d have her hands full with relocating and rehousing all those synths Nora had saved for some time. Time enough for his letters to reach several hands, anyways.

They had time. Time to heal, time for themselves, and time to just _be._ No crazy missions or co-ops, no deep-cover or lies. It was simple and uncomplicated; just live their best lives.

“You know I’m the best at vacations, right?” Deacon told her with a smirk, voice playful as he nuzzled her. “ _Total_ relaxation, room-service, you name it. I make one _hell_ of a cabana boy.”

She snorted lightly, a muttered ‘weirdo’ making him grin, feeling sleep tug at her again. “Just be _here_ , and that’s fine by me…”

Her breathing deepened as he allowed himself to really let her words sink into him. He stroked a hand through her hair, and counted himself yet again as the luckiest fuck in the entire world to ever get a second chance like this one right here. 

He fell asleep next to her like that for some time, only waking later to find her sitting on top of him with a grin and a raised brow, as if her perch had all been his idea.

He put his hand on her thigh with a grin, game to accept the responsibility she was literally putting on him as she snickered and bent to kiss his lips with a muttered ‘hi’.

Yeah. A little relaxation suited them both very, _very_ nicely. And he was _all_ about making sure she came first in every possible meaning of the word. And right now was a good start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not a total mess after being put through the ringer, leave a comment eh? xD I haven't seen Deacon get a proper happy ending yet soooo.... yep cut all ties and run headlong into a second chance xD a little ooc but it was fun so sue me :) And sorry for cutting off the smut xD you'll have to read the Beyond the Sea for that... i'm kind of smutted out at the moment ahahaha
> 
> [my fallout tumblr](http://CommonwealthBankofMacCready.tumblr.com/) | [my fic archive masterlist](https://commonwealthbankofmaccready.tumblr.com/post/172184061939/poisonjack-ao3-fic-archive)


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